“Please, Max,” I whispered, my whisper heavy and clogged, my tone saying I was holding on but my hold was loose and slipping.
His eyes held mine for a long moment before he went back to my jeans and gently freed them from my ankles.
I stepped out of them and he tossed my jeans where he’d tossed my soggy sweater. He straightened, walking to the dresser as I tugged on the sweater and he pulled out a pair of his pajama bottoms. These were flannel, checked dark brown and red on a cream background.
“Looser, for your leg,” he explained and I nodded and pulled off my drenched socks and tossed them on the pile.
Max gave me the pajamas, I pulled them up and drew the drawstring tight. They were overlong and bunched at my ankles, covering my feet.
Still, Max went back to my suitcase then he was facing me again, he put a hand in my belly, pushed me back to the bed where I fell to my behind and he got to a knee in front of me.
He lifted a foot and put on first one thick, wool sock then he dropped that foot and went after the other.
Then his eyes came to me.
“Am I done?” I whispered, staring at Max on a knee in front of me, both of his hands curled around my foot and he had a look on his face as he gazed at me that I’d never forget in my whole life.
He let my foot go, leaned forward, lifted up and, lips at my forehead, he murmured, “You’re a lot of things, Duchess, dressed is just one of them.”
Then he kissed me sweet, grabbed my hand and pulled me off the bed.
I tipped my head back to look in his beautiful, clear gray eyes and, suddenly, I wasn’t trembling anymore.
Then I ran back to Mindy.
*
We got Mindy cleaned, dried and we wrapped her in my robe, putting a pair of Max’s thick socks on her feet as I only brought the one pair.
Mom shuffled off with Mindy, Max, Brody and my wet clothes and Brody climbed into Max’s bed with Mindy, holding her close as the doctor came up the stairs.
At this point, Max took my hand and led me to the bathroom, closing the door. Before I knew what he was about, the drawstring at my bottoms was pulled and the pajamas dropped to my ankles.
“Max!” I hissed on a whisper.
“Shower,” he whispered back.
“Max,” I repeated my hiss.
His hands came to my waist and his face got in mine. “Two choices, Duchess, you get undressed and get in that shower, warm yourself up and clean those scrapes so I can put salve on ‘em or we both get undressed, get in the shower and I clean you up. You got one second, what’s it gonna be?”
“I’ll take a shower,” I said immediately because I knew by the look on his face that his threat was not idle.
“Right,” he replied and then he was gone.
I was putting my shampoo and conditioner back in the shower when the door opened, Max’s torso slipped through, he tossed a pile of clothing on the counter by the sink then the door closed again.
I took a hasty shower but even hasty, the warmth of the water seeped into my skin reminding me I was alive, I was healthy and so was Mindy. It also reminded me of other things, other things I didn’t want to be reminded of and that I could hold at bay if I was doing something, like saving someone’s life or washing her hair.
I felt the tears threaten as I carefully cleaned my leg and I choked them back, my choking audible, reverberating around the marble-tiled shower. I had to keep it together. I couldn’t let Mindy hear me. I could let it go later. Now, I had to keep it together.
I got out, dried off, wrapped my hair in the towel and had new, clean underwear on when Max was back in the room, closing the door behind him.
I covered my lacy bra-covered chest with my arms and hissed yet again, “Max!”
He completely ignored me, got close then squatted down. I tried to take a step away but he caught me behind my knee and kept me close, his head tipping back.
“Stay still, Nina,” he ordered.
“I’m okay, it’s not that bad.”
“Babe, the skin’s broken in places.”
“It’ll be fine.”
His fingers squeezed the back of my knee. “Honey, this’ll take two seconds.”
“Max –”
“Stay still, for me.”
I closed my eyes and my body settled. Without thinking, my system knew it’d do anything, anything, for Holden Maxwell.
I opened them again when I felt Max’s moist fingers gliding with care along the scrapes on my leg from hip to ankle. He had to go back to the tube of ointment several times and it took longer than two seconds but I didn’t call him on this mainly because I was absorbed in watching his bent head, his fingers on my skin, both of these successfully shoving out the panicked, desperate thoughts and feelings that had me in their grip.